


Second Hand Trauma {ryden}

by mirandasdream



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Domestic Ryden, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandasdream/pseuds/mirandasdream
Summary: Being a spy for the CIA has its perks. Ryan Ross and his partner Gabe Saporta have been informed of a lead in an ongoing case involving an assassin, who had been almost entirely untraceable until an anonymous tip is called in, informing the CIA to look to Belleville New Jersey for their suspect. Brendon Urie was becoming sloppy. He knew the organization he worked for was acting impulsively when they hired him to murder Pete Wentz. Now he was going to have to cover his tracks, but will his newfound relationship with a man known only as 'Ryan' cause a problem in doing so? Will it cause Ryan to question everything he believes is morally right? And Mikey Way is now ruthless to find the man responsible for the murder of his lover. Or, well, men.. Was it really his older brothers doing like he believes?
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Victoria Asher/Gabe Saporta
Kudos: 2





	Second Hand Trauma {ryden}

Washington D.C.

2002

**Ryan**

Maybe there was no good in the world, maybe the term 'good' just gives us mundane folk a false sense of morality and calmness. I must admit it is a great strategy the government has come up with, it keeps those who are too lighthearted from causing an uproar of panic. We try to keep the _bad_ concealed from the general public; because if they cannot see it, it might as well not be there. These last few decades have let the world peak in, let us see what they can take. It has been proven effective.. For better or worse. The term 'serial killer' is just one of many that was now causing unease in the average American. Brutal descriptions of crime scenes were now being popularized throughout the media, and streamed on Television when _Saturday Morning Cartoons_ are supposed to be playing. Most people dismiss the thought of crime, shrugging off the feeling with a ' _Crazy motherfuckers', before ignoring its entire existence again._

I, on the other hand, am not a simple minded patriot, who can simply ignore the illegal antics poisoning Americas bloodstream. In fact, my job kind of requires that I pay attention. You see, I work for the CIA, technically, I'm a covert agent, which Gabe says is just a fancy term for Spy. Vicky scolds us whenever we use that word, reckoning that it's a mockery of the work we do here.

Speaking of my boss, Vicky sits on her desk, legs crossed, posture perfect as it usually tends to be. "Ross. Saporta. You two have the assassin, any new leads yet?" She questions, sounding pretty exhausted, as she usually is after two pm. Gabe is eager to answer for me, and I let him. He likes to gain the attention he believes he deserves from exploiting my work. This time, though, I don't stop him. We've got nothing. 

"Well, since none of the murders seem even vaguely connected as of now, Ryan mentioned the possibility of a hitman. Politics out of the question," I hear a few snickers from throughout the room, and Vicky looks to me with eyebrows raised. "Ryan?" My eyes flicker up from the file for a brief second and I find Vickys curious gaze before I look back down, clearing my throat. "It was just a thought.." 

"I'll be sure to look into it," She says, catching my off guard as I look up to her. "What I mean is," She starts before the accusations are thrown around. "It would be stupid of us to eliminate any possible explanation. He could be onto something," Her reassuring voice managed to shut up our colleagues, though I'm nearly certain she said it out of pity. And sympathetic wasn't the word I'd usually use to describe Victoria Asher. She has a lead. That's the only explanation. I look back down at the file for a second, examining the graphic crime-scene photos that were shot only Tuesday. The victim in questioning was a person named Wentz. He was a lower-class kid, only twenty-eight years old. He was a bartender and lived in Brooklyn with his roommate Michael Way, a scrawny guy who wouldn't stop sobbing when being questioned until some lousy cop mentioned the word 'assassin'. The kid looked like he saw a ghost. We don't have much connecting this murder to the others except the fact that it happened in New York, and the bullets used to take out the kid were the same used in eight other crimes. 

This, unlike the other murders, isn't political. Peter Wentz was a bartender who hadn't voted a day in his life, no felonies on file, nothing. This was personal.

"Ryan. Gabe. Come get coffee with me?" Vicky purses, lazily throwing her jacket on. Gabe smiles, nodding enthusiastically. Their relationship is entirely inappropriate but not necessarily unprofessional considering Vicky completely ignores his advances, I wish it could be that easy for me. He had the whole lost puppy thing going on, it was quite nauseating.

We now sit across from Vicky, each of us with our coffee close by. An awkward silence approaches us, and Vicky stares down at her mug, fingers tapping against the warm glass rhythmically. She looks deep in thought, like she's struggling to find the words. I was practically buzzing with anticipation, and unlike Gabe I was completely aware about the work she was about to assign us. "It was very kind of you to buy our coffee," Gabe notes, not even sensing the tense air as he was practically in his own world the majority of the time. "Of course. It's really the least I can do," Vicky gives a lopsided smile to both of us before going back to staring at her coffee mug. 

"I uh, I- I actually did need to speak with you both," She finally says, and Gabe quirks an eyebrow. 

"Someone called in an anonymous tip regarding the case today," Her voice drops to a low and almost intimidating tone, she brings the purple mug to her lips and sips on her coffee. "And?" Gabe asks, only sort-of interested. "We were given an address.. In Belleville, New Jersey. A woman named Donna Summers lives there. She was widowed a couple years back and sort of.. Started over. I can't find much information on the deceased husband. Her maiden name is Rush," Vicky deadpans, pulling a file from her bag and sliding it over. I flip open the file before Gabe could reach for it. A blonde, middle aged woman comes into view. "Any children?" I question, still staring at the photo. "Don't believe so."

"So.." Gabe trails, looking slightly confused. "Are we going to Jersey next week?" He purses his lips together.

"Actually," Vicky clears her throat, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I was thinking today.."  
  


...

"Who does she think she is?" Gabe blabs as we walk down the street. Unfortunately, for me, Gabe and I live very close by, the only difference being that I occupy an apartment while he stays at a small bungalow his father bought him. Thats how he got the job, too, actually, which only leaves me to wonder who exactly his dad is because he must be pretty powerful if Gabe actually scored the job. Part of me thinks one day Gabe's secret intellect will surprise me. That one day he'll do something smart. And then I remember who I’m talking about. "Does she think she can just boss us around?" Gabe asks, and I hand him my briefcase as I pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She probably does think that way. I mean, take a good look at the pair of us. 

I'm scrawny and quiet. Not to mention I'm pretty young. And well, Gabe is an idiot. Maybe that's why I don't mind being his partner. He'll leave me to do the work by myself. It's kinda like working alone.. With a puppy. I inhale the nicotine. "I'm sure she isn't _trying_ to be an ass," I reason, flicking ash to the cement. I really doubt she is. This is simply her job. But I did almost feel guilty for Gabe, thinking for a second that he had actual plans. "I'm gonna miss the _F.R.I.E.N.D.S_ marathon tonight! She didn't even bother asking if we were doing anything tonight!" I bite my tongue, feeling the urge to inform Gabe that other than his precious marathon, the only thing he was going to do was masturbate to the image of Vicky in vulgar positions. I'm sure he does this every night. 

"Hey at least you don't have a girlfriend nagging you about the weekend you were supposed to spend together," I selfishly indulge in my own problems, so I don't have to hear Gabe's voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure having a beautiful woman like Keltie cling to you is the _worst,"_ Gabe remarks sarcastically. I scoff. 

We eventually reach Gabe's house and I tell him I'll call when Vicky is on the way. 

...

"How was work?" I hear Keltie call from the living room when I arrive home. I dread having this conversation every time. 

"Boring," I reply, throwing my jacket on the table. Keltie is reading some dystopian novel, glasses perched up on her nose. She looks up at me, removing the glasses from her face and shooting me a white smile. "Hey," She musters. "Hi," I give a half-grin back, pecking her on the lips. Keltie teaches third grade. She's great with kids. The whole package, really. We've been together almost.. Uh, a year and a half, maybe? Her blonde hair was thrown up into a ponytail and it looked a little damp. She notices my expression, and wow, can she instantly read me. "You have to go again don't you?" She sighs, looking down at her lap. I smile sadly, sitting next to her. "I don't really have a choice.." I mumble, feeling instantly guilty for causing the look she's giving me. "Okay," She simply replies, staring right past me. I grab her hand. "Hey, I'll be back soon. I promise," 

I really thought I meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for checking out my story! I hope you all enjoy it :D  
> Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged.


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